


It's time we all reach out for something new (that means you too)

by Brain_Brainson



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bonding over Music I guess, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 20:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18535201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brain_Brainson/pseuds/Brain_Brainson
Summary: "I don't do bands." Diego leans forward, mimicking Luther as he turns in the desk chair so they can properly look at each other."That's Klaus' forte."





	It's time we all reach out for something new (that means you too)

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't really that well thought out, I just had a vague idea and went with it. Also, I don't know if the songs I referenced fit the time period but who cares, I certainly do not. 
> 
> Have fun reading!

“You’re music taste is shit,” Diego says, looking at the various records in front of him, splayed out on the bed in a half-circle. They’re alphabetized - because of course they are - beginning with Alphaville and ending with Village People. Of all things.  _ Village People _ .

 

Luther is at his desk, back to him, scribbling away on a piece of paper. Diego doesn’t know what he’s writing but he doesn’t ask. It’s still foreign enough that Diego is in Luther’s room - that they are  _ hanging out _ instead of bashing each other’s brains in. Diego isn’t sure that one wrong movement couldn’t blow it all, one curious question be seen as too invasive, shattering the reluctant peace that has settled between them. 

 

Not that they really talked about not being at each other’s throat anymore - not that there aren’t moments when their arguing turns into brawls anymore - but it’s happening less now, mostly because Diego is trying very hard not to constantly pick at Luther, digging gleefully into his exposed nerves with both hands, watching him squirm. 

 

Diego always hits his target, with or without knives. 

 

Now though, now he is trying to be peaceful, sitting in his brother’s room like he’s afraid he’s gonna break something just by breathing too loudly. Even his jabs are half-hearted, an attempt to step back into familiar territory, find his footing. 

 

Luther doesn’t seem to have the same problems, doesn’t even look at Diego as he shrugs with one shoulder, making a sound between a hum and a grunt. 

“Then don’t listen to it.”

 

Diego scoffs. “As if it were that easy. You always make sure the whole house knows what you’re listening to.”

 

“You never complained before.” 

 

Diego doesn’t answer but he does glare at Luther’s back, mostly to save face, whether Luther actually sees it or not. Besides, The Cure is currently playing - because Diego had declared free reign over Luther’s record player more or less the moment he bought it - and Diego can actually live with that. 

 

(He’d never admit it, but he also likes all the cheesy songs Luther always listens to on full-blast, secretly glad that the walls of the academy are so thin. That way, no one can watch him when he inevitably jams out to them in his room, safely locked away from the prying eyes - and the teasing words - of his siblings).

 

He leans back against the wall, using Luther’s pillow to cushion his back and starts twirling one of his knives in his left hand, head tilted back to watch the ceiling. 

Allison had said it was a nervous tick, his hands needing something to do when his mind was reeling. Or when his lips were working around words that shouldn’t be hard to say, weren’t for anyone else, but seemed gigantic in his mouth, nearly impossible to spit out in one piece. 

 

It’s just easier to use his hands, move his fingers in a way that’s second nature by now. Words were unpredictable, never sure when he would choke up, but knives? Knives were always sharp but if you knew how to use them they couldn’t hurt you anymore. 

It was like having armor, only that the armor was sharp and could make the people cry who would poke fun at you otherwise. 

 

Diego presses his thumb into the side of his blade, looking over at Luther when he starts to speak. 

 

“Could you give me my glasses? They’re somewhere on the bed; I think next to the pillow.” 

 

Luther twists his upper body, leaning closer towards Diego, arm outstretched. Diego snatches the glasses from the mattress - careful not to smear the lenses - and drops them into Luther’s hand, eyes lingering on his wrist. 

There’s a smidge of black ink there, right where Luther’s long-sleeved shirt is riding up a bit. 

 

Diego can only see it for the fraction of a second before Luther is pulling his arm back, holding his glasses up against the desk lamp, checking for stains. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, Diego knows what’s there, knows the letters written into Luther’s skin by heart, the way they seem to absorb the light or reflect it, depending on the angle it hits Luther’s wrist. 

 

There was a brief time - about a week after they found out, when it still seemed like a bizarre dream - where Diego couldn’t stop touching Luther’s arm. He’d just walk up to Luther at random times, demanding he’d show him, roll up his sleeve and present his wrist without any warning. 

It was probably pretty annoying but Diego couldn’t help it. Somehow he was convinced that the mark would vanish one day, disappear as abruptly as it came into existence, bleeding into Luther’s skin. Staining him. 

 

So Diego had to check. Had to see for himself that it was still there, trace shaking fingers over skin until he was at ease again, the act strangely grounding. Luther never said anything, never complained, only let Diego grip his arm and brush over his words, touch the handwriting that so eerily resembled his own. 

 

_ Diego _

 

It isn’t the same for everyone, they knew that before. Had read about it, about how the words were supposed to resemble your true personality, be the name that is irrevocably yours. Basically, be what you are. 

 

Diego had never really understood that before. Wasn’t your given name what you “truly” are? Your name is your name and everything that defines you is attached to that name. 

 

Then again, he grew up having two names, so maybe it wasn’t always that easy. 

 

Allison’s name was closest to his, but still not the same.  _ Allison _ , it said, just like it said  _ Diego _ for him, but it also said  _ Hargreeves _ , something Diego doesn’t have, not that he really understands why. 

 

Klaus suggested that maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to have Dad’s last name, doesn’t wanna be linked to him like that. After all, Mum named him Diego, chose the name for him with the love and care Dad didn’t show when he numbered them. 

He still calls them by their numbers and Klaus said he probably always will. 

 

Not that Klaus is an expert on things - he is easily tricked into believing the most ridiculous stuff -, but he  _ is _ Allison’s soulmate, it’s right there, her name dark against his pale skin, taking up all the room on his wrist, so Diego thinks at least there he should know what he’s talking about. 

 

None of them expected Allison and Klaus to be soulmates but none of them thought that Luther and Diego would be either, so the soulmate system doesn’t seem to give a damn about their expectations. 

 

Luther blinks at him owlishly, thick-framed glasses making his eyes way bigger than they are and Diego’s first reflex is to mock him for it, but he doesn’t do that anymore - tries not to anymore - only grips his knife tighter, pressing until his hand starts stinging, and keeps his mouth shut. 

 

Luther smiles like he knows how much restrain it’s taking for Diego to not run his mouth and Diego isn’t sure if it’s a grateful smile or a mean one. He doesn’t smile back, just in case. 

 

(His cheeks still start feeling warm all of a sudden and Diego isn’t sure if it's because of the soulmate thing or if his body did that before around Luther and he just refused to notice it. Doesn't matter now anyway).

 

"What is your favourite band then?" It's an obvious attempt at having a conversation, a  _ real _ one, and Luther looks nervous asking. 

 

Having siblings is weird. On one hand Luther and Diego have done the most ridiculous things together (like accidentally destroying the living room couch while play-wrestling, or teaming up to have a prank war against Ben and Klaus, which they won once they managed to get Klaus to pee his pants in his sleep) on the other hand, they rarely hang out together -  _ really _ hang out, complete with having proper conversations and all. 

 

They don't even know each other, as Allison had put it, angry tears streaming down her face as she jabbed her finger painfully into Diego's ribs, hard enough to leave a bruise. 

 

All of them had been shocked when the words appeared, but she had been outright angry, getting up and storming out of Ben's room, leaving everyone sitting in a half-circle, arms lined up against each other.

 

Dad had made sure their tattoos would be where the mark would normally appear, hoping to cancel it out with another mark, one he deemed more important than the name of your soulmate. 

 

Still, they'd waited, sitting together the night before their 16th birthday, hoping despite hope that maybe their father had been wrong about erasing the words, erasing their destiny.

 

But - as always - Reginald Hargreeves had known what he was doing and their left wrists came up empty, no names appearing after midnight, nothing disturbing the perfect circle the umbrella was encased in. 

 

'That's it,' Diego had thought, not surprised at all. Just another thing that separated them from everyone else, proving how much of an outcast they all are.

 

That is, until his right arm had started hurting. 

 

"I don't do bands." Diego leans forward, mimicking Luther as he turns in the desk chair so they can properly look at each other. 

 

"That's Klaus' forte."

 

Diego had been so enthralled by the letters appearing on his skin, engraving themselves on his wrist without a needle and without blood but with the same pain, maybe even more intense than the tattoo, he didn't even register what they said at first. 

 

The letters came one at a time, like someone was actually writing them, handwriting so tidy it looked unreal. 

(And Mum had always complimented Luther on his clean way of writing, especially considering he was left-handed. Most of the time you couldn't even make out Ben's scrawl). 

 

Next to him, Klaus had looked at his own arm and Diego had seen how the words tumbled together, not at all in order, a random  _ A _ there and a  _ V _ somewhere else entirely. 

Still, Diego had immediately recognised the sweeping way Allison wrote for autographs, the little heart she used for the  _ I _ and how she underlined her name with the end of the  _ S _ , something she practised in the kitchen for hours on end. 

 

Funny that it took him longer to understand who his own soulmate was than it took to make the connection between the loose letters on Klaus' wrist and Allison's concentrated face as she tried to get the  _ G _ just right, perfect circle. 

 

"Klaus' forte are boybands; not every band is a boyband." Luther sounds like he does when he's about to give a monologue, mostly right before a mission and Diego scoffs, immediate reaction ingrained into his brain every time Luther's voice turns this particular shade of condescending. 

 

"I know that, dipshit." It's out his mouth before he can berate himself but he isn't really angry about it. Mostly he's annoyed. 

 

Blame it on puberty, but somehow his mood has turned from neutral to sour in under 5 seconds. 

 

"Well, what do you like then? Which singer?" Luther is tentative where he normally would answer with stubbornness, arms crossed and air of superiority around him that'd only piss Diego off even more. But Diego isn’t the only one trying these days and Luther's whole posture looks like he's offering peace. 

 

_ Number One _

 

That's what the words on Diego's wrist say. 

 

Once he'd realized and looked up, Luther had already stared back at him, hand clenching around his right arm, looking… well, not exactly horrified, not even that surprised, mostly…  _ dazed _ . Like he wasn't sure whether he was dreaming or not, torn between deeming it a good dream or a nightmare. 

 

But Allison had decided for them, ripping Luther's arm towards her before dropping it again, eyes wide and mouth open like she was ready to start screaming. 

 

A nightmare then. 

 

Diego let's his eyes wander over the array of records again, looking for something to catch his eye. 

They have a radio in the kitchen but it's rarely playing, Mum not caring whether she's working in complete silence or not. 

 

Diego is mostly dependant on whatever Luther plays concerning his music taste but he can't admit that now. So he just goes with whatever comes to mind first.

 

"Prince." Diego hates how it sounds more like a question than a statement coming out of his mouth. "Prince," he repeats, nodding. 

 

He barely knows more than two Prince songs but that doesn’t matter, not when he caught Luther so obviously off guard. 

 

“I don’t have that,” Luther says, tone flat. 

 

“Shame,” Diego answers, like it’s actually bothering him. He brushes over the words on his wrist, watches as Luther tracks the movement. 

 

He used to cover it up, without really knowing why. Used to steal Allison’s scrunchies and wrap them around his wrist, one after the other, nearly cutting off his blood flow. Allison had told Mum, had complained about not being able to properly do her hair anymore, but Diego hadn’t cared. 

 

Maybe because deep down - or actually not so deep - he’d hid it largely to avoid the looks Allison always shot him, disbelieving but angry at the same time. 

 

Mum had bought him a leather bracelet to use instead of the scrunchies but he doesn’t cover it anymore. Not since Allison and Klaus started holding hands under the table. 

 

(Luther had smiled the first time he’d seen him in a t-shirt, wrist bare).

 

Luther still looks conflicted, like Diego not being able to listen to Prince right this instant is causing him physical distress and Diego doesn’t know whether he should laugh or blush. He does neither; only points at the record player with his thumb, gesturing to where The Cure is still playing, going on about how boys don’t cry. 

 

“This is also okay.”

 

Luther visibly relaxes, more so when Diego smiles at him, a sweet smile not a mocking one, and soon he’s scribbling away at his desk again, this time in a position that can’t be comfortable, chair and legs parallel to his desk while his upper body is twisted towards the piece of paper. 

 

It feels a lot less like Diego is being ignored and a lot more like Luther’s trying to include him as much as possible, even when they’re not doing anything together. 

 

(It also means that Diego has to be a lot more subtle about openly staring at Luther because now the odds of Luther catching him doing so are a lot higher. As is the possibility of Diego catching Luther staring, ducking his head away as soon as their eyes meet, cheeks a flaming red.

 

It makes Diego smile).

 

Even though their match had been unexpected it wasn’t unusual. Well, at least not in the ‘we never thought this would happen’ way but rather in the ‘we already knew our soulmate before getting the mark and don’t have to wait years to find them’ way. 

 

Allison and Klaus were even less surprising, considering how well they got along even before they knew, before Allison started to kiss Klaus’ cheek goodbye every night, or Klaus replicated the  _ Number Four _ on her wrist on her thigh and neck and cheek with sharpie, getting Mum to gently scold them when she found out that he’d used the waterproof one. 

 

Ben and Five though? They were special even in Soulmate terms. 

 

Sure, Ben had  _ Five _ on his arm and Five  _ The Horror,  _ but both of them had another name under each other’s, something Diego had never even heard of. 

 

_ The White Violin _

 

“Sounds like a supervillain name,” Diego had said, when Ben and he had hung out in Ben’s room, Ben frantically going through each and every book on the topic of soulmates he’d been able to check out at the library. 

 

Five had zapped in from time to time, wordlessly bringing Ben coffee - Five’s personal comfort food - and also making sure he ate enough, judging by the plates on the ground next to the bed, or the half-eaten sandwiches on the nightstand. 

 

Ben hadn’t left his room for two days, only emerging on the third day because a mission required his presence and as much as Dad didn’t care about what his children were up to most of the time, missions were something no one dare mess with. 

 

Apparently people with multiple soulmates weren’t even that uncommon, especially not in other cultures. But people believed it was a sign of bad luck, a promise that something was bound to happen to all people involved. People with three soulmates rarely ever found each other, much less managed to be happy. 

 

A lot of tragedy was involved in having multiple soulmates and while Five only scoffed when Ben told them all at the kitchen table, eyes wide and having a dangerous edge to them from the lack of sleep, Diego hadn’t missed the way they seem to cling to each other even tighter now, always circling around each other like planets. Always on the lookout for something they refuse to admit they believe in. 

 

(If 17 year old Diego were able to see the future, to somehow know what 30 year old Diego will come to know - will find out and experience and suffer through - he’d say that the superstitions are true. People with multiple soulmates never get a happy ending. 

 

But he doesn’t, so 17 year old Diego only laughs when Ben talks about being worried something will happen, hoping the fear in his voice isn’t too audible).

 

Diego can hear Allison giggle next door, a startling noise, cutting through the silence in Luther’s room. Klaus is probably with her. 

 

Luther had told him that he’d walked in on them kissing one time, Klaus having his hand up Allison’s shirt. Luther had gone all red telling him and for a brief second Diego had wondered if Luther and Allison had ever done that, his stomach in knots and anger bubbling in his throat without any real reason. 

 

Luther used to walk into Allison’s room all the time, the only one who didn’t get yelled at when he just burst in without knocking. Who knows what they did behind closed doors, alone together for hours on end. 

 

(Diego thinks of Luther with his hand up Allison’s shirt. Then he thinks of his own hand up Luther’s shirt. He shakes his head).

 

Diego stands up, not sure what to do with himself. Luther turns his head, alarmed. 

 

“Are you leaving?” 

 

They stare at each other for a moment, Luther’s hands flexing at his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do. Diego still has a knife in his hand. He forces himself to put it away instead of playing with it.

 

“No,” Diego says, reflexively. But there’s not much he could do otherwise. He mostly got up to do something, getting the nervous energy out. But now that he’s standing in the middle of the room like an idiot there aren’t any other options. 

 

(He could go up to Luther, look over his shoulder to see what he’s working on. Loop his arms around him). 

 

Diego crosses the room to look out the window, arms crossed. He can look into the yard from Luther’s room instead of the street and there’s someone standing there. Maybe it’s Vanya. 

 

Vanya hadn’t been there when the soulmarks appeared. Or rather, no one had thought to tell Vanya that they would meet in Ben’s room, be together when the words appeared. 

Then again, Vanya was the only one where the words would surely happen, no tattoo there to try and prevent them from existing because ordinary people could afford having a ‘distraction’. 

 

Diego doesn’t know what the words on Vanya’s wrist say. She didn’t tell him, but there’s no reason why she would. They aren’t particularly close. He also hasn’t told her but with him it’s hard to miss. How could she not know with the way Diego and Luther are treating each other lately, trying to take more steps towards each other than they ever did before. 

 

Besides, Ben and Five sure as hell told her, the only two who really pay attention to their sister. They probably also told her about their own soulmarks and the complications that go with it. 

Diego doesn’t think she told them though, not with the way she holds herself, left arm protectively held to her stomach, shirts always long-sleeved. Diego is sure he saw glimpses of a band-aid when her clothing couldn’t cover it all. 

 

Diego doesn’t know why she would keep it such a secret. Maybe she got someone bad, a soulmate she already knows somehow, knows that it would be a bad idea to be with them. Maybe. 

Diego still hopes it’s someone nice. 

 

"I'm gonna head to my room, I guess."

 

He turns, starting to walk over to the door. When he passes Luther, there's something pulling in his chest. 

He makes a rather rash decision, ducking down to press a kiss to Luther's cheek before quickly walking on and out the room, shutting the door behind him. 

 

In his own room, he can't stop touching his lips, rubbing over them, a tingling sensation spreading over his mouth. He grins. 

 

A week later, there are two Prince records laying in Luther's room, ' _ Purple Rain'  _ playing. 

Diego doesn’t have his hands up Luther's shirt but his mouth is on Luther's and that's maybe even better. 

 

They'll get there eventually anyway. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if anyone would be interested in seeing more for this universe, maybe have me explore the other pairings a bit more (I admit they are odd but that's just my thing).
> 
> Come scream at me over at tumblr I am @b-rainlet on there. Or leave a comment whatever you prefer. 
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
